


Post

by m_class



Category: Star Trek: Voyager
Genre: Angst with a Happy Ending, Episode: s07e01 Unimatrix Zero, Episode: s07e19 Q2, Gen, Hurt/Comfort, Injury, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, Q (mentioned)
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-09-23
Updated: 2016-09-23
Packaged: 2018-08-16 19:37:07
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,837
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8114884
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/m_class/pseuds/m_class
Summary: Still recovering from the physical damages of Borg assimilation, all Kathryn Janeway wants is a quiet, pain-free night's sleep after her long day dealing with a teenaged Q. Then a canine whimper from behind the couch changes her plans, in more ways than one.





	

Kathryn Janeway flops onto her bed, then winces, curling onto her side. Her back is such a stiff, achy mess that lying flat is worse than standing up.

Gradually, her bones adjust to their new configuration, and she gingerly eases back onto the pillow, letting out a long sign. What a day. Her life is hard enough without an omnipotent teenager on the loose. As pleased as she is with how things turned out, she can’t help but worry a bit about the kid. Lessons learned on all sides or no, she’s never felt outstandingly confident in the idea of Q as a parent, and his nonchalance about letting his child genuinely fear being turned into a single-celled organism hasn’t done anything to assuage her fears.

Sighing again, she checks that her alarm is set, then dims the lights and closes her eyes, trying to envision herself sinking peacefully into her pillow. Just as she’s drifting off to sleep, she jerks awake, suddenly back on the bridge, crushed in the arms of a Borg drone about to plunge assimilation tubules into her neck.

Sitting up, she draws her knees to her chest, wrapping her arms around them. She’s not angry at the kid, not really. He was acting out as all teenagers do, just on a larger—omnipotently larger—scale. He had no way of knowing—or, at least, of understanding—what the Borg are to her.

Well, what they are is a backache, for starters. Reaching around to rub her lower back, she huffs, gives it up, and slides her feet off the edge of the bed, walking over to get a painkiller from the replicator. The damn thing won’t even make a reliable cup of coffee, let alone respond well to her circumspect attempt to wipe the little piece of code that sends a note to the sickbay computer whenever a crewmember requests more than three analgesics over a six-day period. Now that he can’t just pummel her back at will— _ha, there’s one advantage of assimilation_ —the Doctor has been making noises about yet another surgery to repair the enduring damage done by the back clamps. The first five— _five!_ —post-assimilation procedures Kathryn relented to, in part because she didn’t want to give B’Elanna any ideas about hiding in Engineering when her own post-return “touch-ups,” as the Doctor dubbed them, rolled around. But now that she can walk, run, and eat more or less without pain, and full vision has returned to her right eye, she’d rather just live with the damage than get any more familiar with sickbay. After all, she asked for it, and furthermore, it wasn’t like she didn’t have backaches before. Who’s to say this isn’t less about getting mangled by the Collective and more about getting old?

She presses the hypo to the side of her neck. Over the hiss, she hears what surely is a thump from the other side of the living room.

Kathryn freezes, hypo in hand. _Q,_ is her first thought, but nothing dramatic enough to be Q-sent springs at her from behind the sofa. Taking a breath, she swears internally. She’s not on the bridge, there isn’t a crisis, she’s not supposed to have to be on guard, and there’s already been more than enough trouble today. Can’t the universe tell when she’s just had _enough?_

She’s just telling herself she imagined the Doctor sneaking up behind her as the hypospray hissed next to her ear, and made up the sound entire, when the thump sounds again, along with what sounds like the high-pitched whine of badly misaligned machinery.

Maybe a pipe in the wall is coming loose. The thought cheers her as she walks cautiously toward the couch, eyes narrowed, hand poised over her combadge. She knows she should call security, but she can’t bring herself to alert an entire shift of Tuvok’s department about what might be a squeaky pipe.

As she rounds the piece of furniture, she’s overcome by a faint feeling that the situation is familiar somehow. _Q,_ she thinks again, without knowing why.

Behind the couch is…nothing. Nothing visible, anyway.

Well, it’s not the Borg. She starts back to grab the tricorder near the door when she hears another whine.

A small, silky-furred setter puppy gazes up at her, liquid-eyed, from a cushion tucked against the back of the couch.

Not just _a_ puppy…

Eyes widening, Kathryn slowly sinks to her knees, and is reaching forward before she remembers to breathe again. The little creature seems to recognize her as well, its whole body starting to wiggle as its tail thumps the ground.

A bow has been tied loosely around the dog’s neck, and is already sliding down to rest under its chin. Attached to the bow is a card.

 

_Kathy,_

_We both owe you our thanks for your help with Junior. I (Q) offered you this little fellow once, with perhaps not the most wholesome of motivations. I hope that he remains an acceptable gift, offered now in the spirit of gratitude rather than, as you humans would call it, propositioning._

_I (Q) also wanted to thank you for the (dare I say) inhuman patience you show in your dealings with my son and former husband. Although Q and I are thankfully remaining separated, I’m making some more space for Q in my life. I want my son to retain at least some idea of the dignity and wisdom befitting a Q, and APPARENTLY I’m the only omnipotent being willing to teach it to him, at least when he bothers to listen._

_And I (Q) wanted you to know that this was totally my idea. I told Dad we should get you a real present besides just flowers, and he said he already had except it wasn’t the right time and he had to take it back, and I made him tell me why. I didn’t know you were almost my mom. That would have been gross and weird :-P :-P :-P Anyway I hope you like him._

_Q, Q & Q_

_P.S. He’s housebroken. You’ve got enough on your plate already._

_P.S.S. I don’t think much time at all has passed for him, so you may have some explaining to do about your hair._

 

The puppy has been watching Kathryn anxiously as she reads. She lets him sniff her hand, then gently strokes his head. “This must be very disorienting for you. I can’t imagine what it’s like being snapped into and out of existence in the first place. Never mind finding yourself with the same-smelling person, but four years apart.”

The dog relaxes a little as she pets him, and finally she lifts him from the bed, settling his furry little head on her shoulder.

“Let’s get this ribbon off you. I can’t believe Q doesn’t know how to write a double postscript, can you? P.S.S. instead of P.P.S. Omnipotent and he doesn’t know that _post script_ means _after letter_.” She snips the ribbon gently. “After letter letter. Honestly.”

Carrying the puppy back to the bed, she sets him on it, then sinks down again, lying on her side so that she’s on his eye level. The little animal walks around her, sniffing curiously.

“It’s still me. Not that we knew each other very long.”

She holds out a hand, realizing it’s still trembling slightly from the fear and adrenaline of having a supposed crisis sprung on her when least expected. Something inside her that has nothing to do with Borg clamps clenches painfully. There was a time when her mind and body one have easily shaken off such a minor scare, unexpected or no.

“A lot of things have changed since you were last on this ship, you know.” The puppy sniffs her fingers. “A lot more has changed than my hair. You’ve got better senses than a human. Any dead nanoprobes still hanging around inside me? Do I smell like Borg?”

Unexpectedly, the puppy licks her hand. Startled tears form in Kathryn’s eyes. Unlike most of the tears to put in a brief appearance there over the years, instead of staying put, they roll down her face, then start multiplying. Burying her face in the bed, Kathryn lets out a few furtive sobs. “I’m sorry. I’m probably scaring you. What a ship you walked onto, huh? We do have a holodeck, though. Lots of sticks to fetch. I bet Naomi could play with you. I don’t think my back could take it. Oh, yes, Naomi. She’ll love you. The crew will love you. I don’t think I could justify using resources on a captain’s dog, but you can be a ship’s dog. That’ll be alright.”

She raises her head, wiping her eyes. The dog has sat down in the awkward way of young puppies, his behind uncoordinated to the rest of his body, and continues to regard her with equanimity.

“What am I thinking? Existence is probably hungry work. Let’s get you something to eat.”

Wishing Q—any of them—had thought to include an approximate biological age on the card, she replicates a nutritional supplement for a two-month-old setter and fills a bowl with water, then pulls the presentation cushion and a few folded blankets into the bedroom while the puppy eats. Lifting him gently again, she carries him in and sets him down on the impromptu dog bed.

“Goodnight, little one. I’ll start introducing you around in the morning.”

As Kathryn stretches out on the bed and closes her eyes, she hears a loud whine. Sitting up, she looks over the edge of the bed to see her roommate looking up at her anxiously. He whines again. She feels a broad smile spread over her face. “You want up?"

As she reaches down and lifts him onto the bed, a sharp whimper of her own escapes her as her back torques briefly into an unfamiliar position. Wagging anxiously, the small dog immediately starts licking her face.

“Oh, little guy. I’m sorry. I’m okay.”

Gently, she strokes his back, until he begins to settle down, finally tramping down the covers with his paws before curling up to sleep. Arcing her body loosely around the little auburn ball of fur, mindful that the young and disoriented puppy might not yet be ready to be closely snuggled, Kathryn continues her gentle stroking, marveling at the softness of his coat. “They have good puppy shampoo in the chaotic plane before existence, huh?” She closes her eyes. “I’m glad you’re here. I don’t know if I’ll be a perfect human for you, but we’ll figure it out. The crew really will love you. And I’ll take you to the holodeck every day after I get off duty. Keep me from working too late.”

The puppy begins to snore softly, and Kathryn smiles sleepily. “There’s a surgery I’ll have to have before I can run around the holodeck with you, you know. I’ll go down and schedule it in the morning.”

**Author's Note:**

> No only can I not believe being assimilated, even in body only, wouldn't have lasting psychological consequences (kudos to the other writers who have addressed this!), I doubt that that away team would have been physically right as rain after just a day in sickbay, either. I riffed on the back pain Janeway was still experiencing at the end of the episode, which would doubtless pile on top of the years of aches and pains she had already accumulated.
> 
> This started as a self-generated plot bunny about getting THE PUPPER back (yes, the exact same one, because I have Feelings about him getting snapped out of existence), then turned into a Unimatrix Zero aftermath-fest. What can I say? Even PTSD is better with puppies.


End file.
